


Right on Target

by GalaxySong



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: BAMF John, Death, Guns, M/M, Sherlock and Experiments, Shooting, Sugar high sherlock, War, blind folds, cuddly toys, small Children
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-12
Updated: 2013-01-12
Packaged: 2017-11-25 04:18:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,432
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/635029
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GalaxySong/pseuds/GalaxySong
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Four times John was a Bamf with a gun, he's got skills!</p>
            </blockquote>





	Right on Target

**Author's Note:**

> Was originally going to be 5 times fic but I just wasn't happy with any last chapter I wrote. Might add a chapter later.

God it’s hot is John’s first thought when he wakes up each day and his last as he goes to sleep. He stopped saying it out loud after two month, because Ethan who slept opposite him wasn’t there any more to say ‘No shit Doc’. But he still thinks it and he still expects Ethan to answer him with his usual grin. But Ethan’s been sent home broken and bleeding and wont be saying anything at all ever again.

Two months is now two years and it’s still too bloody hot but he’s too busy trying to keep him self and his unit alive to really notice any more. He’s checking the new medical supply’s when he hears the explosion. Sound carries in the dessert, he knows that but this sounds incredibly close and then he sees the smoke. It can’t be more than half a mile away and he’s already moving gathering what he needs with out really thinking about it. 

When they reach what’s left of the car that exploded and John switches to professional mode, scanning over the dead because the ones that can be saved are who need him right now, he can mourn later. 

He hears young Jake before he sees him, baby faced Jake who’s only been here three months is screaming because there is a chunk of shrapnel sticking out his side and in times like these you can’t fake being brave, not when your in agony. 

He drops to his knees, trusting the others to watch his back and starts pulling stuff out his kit.

“Hey Jake I’m going to give you something for the pain. So we can move you ok.”

He doesn’t get a reply as he injects the morphine but he wasn’t expecting to.

John stood waving at the others to come over and help him move Jake when something hits him hard in the shoulder, sending him spinning to the ground. 

All hell breaks loose, bullets firing from what they thought was a abandoned building, it takes him a minute to realise he’s been shot and god it hurts. He’s stuck in the middle of no mans land between a fire fight with a dieing kid and no way for his unit to get to them.

He presses down on his own shoulder and pain almost makes him throw up but when he stops feeling dizzy, he realises from his position on the ground he can see all three gun men. The only way he and Jake are going to get this alive is if his unit can get to them safely. 

John lets go of his shoulder and wipes his hand on his trousers' getting rid of the sweat and blood, rolls onto his stomach, trying to not pass out from the pain and pulls out his gun. 

All three shooters are dead in less in thirty seconds and the shooting stops all together when the others realize no one is shooting back. 

The silence is almost deafening and then they are surrounded by familiar faces and some one is pressing down on his shoulder and he remembers all about the horrible pain now that he doesn’t have a task to focus on. For a change John’s last thought before he falls into unconsciousness isn’t that’s too bloody hot.

 

 

* * * * ** **

 

“Have you ever missed a target?”

John looks up from his food at the unexpected question, “What?”

Sherlock sighs and sits opposite him “Have you ever missed when firing a gun?”

“Of course I have,” John tells him going back to his food. It’s been a long case and he just wants to eat and go to sleep.

“How many times have you missed?”

John groans in annoyance “I don’t know, I never kept count.”

“Why not?” Sherlock asks, looking genuinely confused that he wouldn’t keep count.

“Because I was in a war zone Sherlock, I had more to worry about than keeping count of how many people I killed,” John winces at his own words, even if they were the enemy and shooting back at him he never liked killing, even if he was dame good at it. “Why do you want to know?”

“Since I met you, you have shot four people and never missed. One dead the other three wounded and even then it was obvious you meant to wound them, not kill.”

John gives up on his food, he had never realized how often he used a gun when he was out helping Sherlock. He could just imagine what his ex therapist would say about surrounding him self in more blood and death. It was like he was trying to bring the war to him since he couldn’t go back to it.

“Just luck Sherlock,” He tells him and goes to put his plate in the kitchen, as much as he would like to keep the leftovers for later, the fridge is never safe and Sherlock would just end up using it to breed bacteria or something. 

“I’m going to bed, don’t stay up all night,” He says coming out the kitchen and that’s when he see’s it. A tiny little red dot on Sherlock’s chest. He spends half a second thinking how stupid can an assassin be to use a laser sight before he’s running and knocking Sherlock out of the chair and onto the floor. The window breaks and the bullet goes into the chair, instead of Sherlock.

John grabs his recently cleaned gun from it’s hidey place on the bottom shelf of the book case and rolls towards the middle of the room, takes aim and shoots, the would be assassin in the empty building opposite them. He was easy to spot, not even trying to hide. 

Adrenaline has his body thrumming and he rests his fore head on the floor taking a deep breath. Sherlock is still sitting on the ground looking a little wide eyed but raises an eye brow at him. John glares at him and thinks he best phone the police. Luckily he has a license for this gun courtesy of Mycroft.

John sat up wincing, he must have hurt his shoulder knocking Sherlock to the ground.

“So help me god Sherlock if you arranged for some one to take a shot of you just to see how good a shot I am,” He lets the rest of the sentence trail off not sure what he will do, but it won’t be pretty.

Sherlock gives him a wicked grin as he stands up, brushing dust off his clothes, “Oh no John that was just incredibly good timing, and luck”.

 

* * * * * *

 

“Sherlock this is ridicules.” 

“You promised John.”

“Yes I did, didn’t I,” John mutters looking around the empty firing range. Trust Sherlock to know some one that runs a private firing range and had kindly gave him free run of it for tonight. Sherlock and guns were never a good combination. He had made the other man promise not to touch even a single bullet before he would even come.

“This wont take any more than an hour,” Sherlock informs him, “Just do as I say.”

John sighs and looks at the target, he takes a steady breath, firms his grip and fires. Three in the head and three in the chest. Just like Sherlock told him to.

“Very good,” Sherlock mutters, making a note.

“Yeah, well it’s easier when they aren’t shooting back at you.”

It goes on like that for half and a hour. John following Sherlock’s orders like a good little solider but then he pulls out the pink blind fold that says, princess on it.

“I am not wearing that.”

“It was the only one they had in the shop, no one will see you.”

John rolls his eyes, “I don’t care what colour it is Sherlock. I am not wearing a blind fold while shooting a gun, it’s dangerous.” 

“We are the only people here and I am standing behind you, it’s perfectly safe.”

John grudgingly agrees to wear the stupid thing, half convinced Sherlock will take pictures of him and post them on his site for revenge of the deer stalker pictures.

He goes through much of the same, this time aiming at where he thinks the head or chest is of the paper target is. 

John is all of a sudden a ware of how close Sherlock is standing behind him, especially when he feels the other mans breath against his ear and neck and he whispers the targets. 

 

He gasps when Sherlock nips at his ear lobe and then kisses it better, “What are you doing?” 

Knowing the answer should be obvious but he’s standing, blind folded holding a gun and this is a bit strange even for them.

“Seeing if your still as good a shot when you are being distracted, like you said, it’s easier when they aren’t shooting back.”

Sherlock kisses the side of his neck, “Left arm.”

John groans and thinking this is one of the most evil things Sherlock has ever done, including his ,how many times can he make John come in one night experiment. He adjusts his aim, picturing the target and fires.

Sherlock is kissing across his jaw and when he reaches the corner of his mouth John has had enough and twists his head just enough to capture Sherlock’s mouth with his own.

He wonders what they must look like and then moves, just a little to get better access to Sherlock’s mouth, still keeping aim even with the ache in his shoulder building. He feels he isn’t the only one enjoying this. John groans and deliberately pushes back, making Sherlock whimper and John would swear the sound echoes around them. 

Sherlock grabs his hip’s trying to regain some control of his latest experiment. John’s more interested in the sounds he can make Sherlock make.

Sherlock pulls away, and whispers against his lip’s, one last target, “Heart.”

John nips Sherlock bottom lip, adjusts his aim and fires.

 

*

 

John had thought it would be fun to take his nieces to the fair, they could play games and go on the rides and then he could give them back to Clara hyped up on sugar. That was what good uncles were supposed to do, wasn’t it? But now that they were at the fair, he was scared out of his mind. What if he lost them or even worse what if some one took them? What if they got sick or hurt? What if they were afraid of clowns and were traumatized for life? John frowned now thinking about it, he wasn’t to fond of clowns him self. 

He jumped when Sherlock suddenly appeared at his side, eating more cotton candy. 

“How much of that have you eaten? Your going to rot your teethe.”

Sherlock hesitated before popping more pink candy floss into his mouth, “I wanted to know if there was any difference between the blue, white and pink.”

“Is there?” John asked.

“No but I wanted to double check,” Sherlock told him licking the candy floss that had stuck to his fingers.

John watched almost hypnotized by that pink tongue until a child laughing makes him remember the girls. Panic grabbed him when he realized he had gotten distracted by Sherlock and lost track of them. Before he could get to worked up Sherlock nudged his arm and nodded towards were Sally and Debbie were standing watching a man making bloon animals. He sighed in relief heading over to them.

“Hey remember what I said about not wandering off,” He told them but not angrily.

“Sorry Uncle John.” They replied, giving him there most innocent smiles. 

The rest of the day John keeps a close eye on the girls and Sherlock who seemed to be enjoying him self. He had eaten a ridicules a mount of candied apples and candy floss and John was dreading the thought of dealing with a sugar high Sherlock tonight.

After to much food and too many fast rides he agrees to playing some of the games before they head home. 

There just happens to be a stall with a shooting game. The man in the stall tells him how simple it is all you have to do is knock three cans off the table with three pellets. The rifle feels bulky in his hands and the weight is all wrong but he knows that’s on purpose to make it harder to hit the target.

 

John doesn’t want to disappoint the girls, he can see how much they want the over sized teddies. 

The stall worker looks stunned as he knock off all the cans twice, something he imagines not many people have done. He decides against mentioning that cans are a lot easier to hit that people, even with a half useless gun.

He smiles as the girls squeal in joy, Debbie picks a shark of all things that she can hardly get her arm’s around and Sally picks a giant pink cat that seems to be eighty percent fluff. Clara is probably going to kill him if it sheds pink fur all over the house just like a real cat.

John is glad it’s time to head home when he sees Sherlock is staring at one of the teddies in the stall. It’s a giant lime green octopus with huge eyes and a dopey smile. John thinks it must be the sugar high that has Sherlock looking so fascinated with the thing but John still pays for one more shot, the stall owner giving him a pained look. 

He hands the ridiculous thing over to Sherlock, who takes it with out a word but clutches it to his chest the whole way home. 

 

John stretches in bed after handing his hyper nieces back over to Clara, completely exhausted. His feet brush the green octopus that is taking up most of the bottom the bed and Sherlock has named Frank. John decides it’s better not to ask, he’s just glad that he’s crashed from the sugar high and is curled up beside him.

“I don’t know how people do it. Having kids is terrifying. With the things we have seen in cases I would be scared to let them out the house.”

Sherlock hums in agreement, wrapping him self tighter around John and mutters into his neck, “It’s OK, when we have children I will fit them with GPS locator chips.”

John nods in agreement half asleep until he realizes what Sherlock just said and he’s suddenly wide awake.

“Wait, what?”

His only answer is Sherlock’s snoring.


End file.
